


no halos

by lushwang (theangryblob)



Series: open road [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Character Death, M/M, Violence, hong is unhinged for a little bit and junhui thinks thats hot, its minor unnamed character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryblob/pseuds/lushwang
Summary: joshua is so rarely like this - junhui wants to burn this scene into memory, wants to replay it endlessly behind his eyelids, wants to relish in knowing that only he gets to see this side of joshua.(alternatively: a hit gone wrong, and joshua makes it personal. junhui is just along for the ride.)





	no halos

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! sort of a sequel to 'sun dance', which you don't have to read but everything might make a little more sense if you do. this is just an anecdote - one of many short, weird, unnecessarily violent anecdotes from their lives and in this au. 
> 
> thank you to my lovely mika for beta reading~

it’s well past midnight when jun enters the motel room, limbs trembling with so much energy he doesn’t know what to do with it. there are always things to do, always something to burn through the adrenaline, but the moment he opens the door he feels too  _ scared _ to move, like the very air was pushing back on him, like he was walking through water. 

(viscous, pulling at his limbs, like he has to drag himself through air - it feels less like water, more like blood drying on his skin, sticky and rusting. his brain supplies the macabre before they’re even there yet, and jun wishes he could breathe a little easier. 

as it is, his lungs are squeezing around nothing.)

the lights are off, the blinds down, but the gaps between the slates are wide enough that the neon light from the motel sign outside fills the room with garish pink rectangles. the comforter on the bed has been bunched up, pushed to the edges of the mattress, left unmade from that morning. there’s a potted plant on the desk, withering away, its leaves melting into a murky greyish-brown. the bathroom door is slightly ajar, a sliver of fluorescent light coming through the crack and striking the brown carpeting. it looks out of place, unnerving. he wants to close the door, but he stands where he is, mouth dry, hands shaking. 

there’s a stillness about the room, like it’s been undisturbed for ages, like even a step forward would tip everything over, like he’s standing on the end of a needle, too scared to even sway. 

joshua moves first, pulling his hand away from his face. there’s a cigarette between his fingers, and after a beat, he tilts his head back, mouth caught under the light. the smoke rises up from his lips, the skin of his jaw turns a violent magenta, the smoke wafting up slowly: grey, pink, grey, pink, grey, pink, before it dissipates entirely. he’s glowing, almost. the focal point in the dark room, like he’s sucking up all the light by simply being there, everything turning to shadows next to him.

joshua is sitting at the little table by the window, leaning back in his chair, like he was exhausted, like he could barely keep his own body upright. junhui knows better. if joshua was tired, he’d be smoking a blunt to relax, would have crawled into bed ages ago, would have stretched out his arms and beckoned junhui to join him, sleepy and vulnerable, sated. 

but he’s not tired. and he certainly wouldn’t let junhui handle all of this by himself, not when joshua has made it personal.

on the table before him is an ashtray, nearly overflowing with cigarette butts that weren’t there this morning. those don’t really help with the stress, they don’t make him relax, not like joshua claims it does. junhui can  _ taste _ the agitation, the way it rolls off joshua in waves, even though his face is calm, eyes closed like he hadn’t a care in the world. perhaps junhui just knew him too well. perhaps he was just anticipating what was to come. 

their medical kit is unpacked and strewn over the table - sterilized, but messy, like joshua didn’t have the energy to put everything away. 

the light coming in through the window crosses joshua’s chest in patches, but it’s enough. junhui can see the stitches clearly: a jagged line running from the edge of his collar to the middle of his chest. junhui wishes he could have been here, should have done it himself, at least gotten joshua a fucking drink so the pain wouldn’t be as bad. but as it was, junhui was gone for - two, nearly three hours - and joshua would want to stitch himself up while he sober, while he can at least control himself. it’s not done well, and it’ll scar, probably, but it’s done, and has been for a while. joshua’s burned through a pack of cigarettes already, but he’s still sweaty, skin shining with the evidence of his pain. 

“well?”

his voice sounds no different than it usually does: calm, disarming, warm. jun clears his throat, stepping forward, body set into motion. he didn’t need permission to move, like joshua would ever  _ limit _ him, but he has it now. junhui walks to the other side of the room, opening up a bag to make sure it had everything they need. it does.

“i got him. he’s in the trunk.”

_ him _ .

they don’t take clients. they never stay in one place long enough to have a reputation, nor would they ever want one. they don’t  _ do _ hits. there’s too much talking involved, too much about themselves revealed. but they know this client, jun knows exactly what kind of scum the man in the back of their car is, and he’d have done this for free if he was asked. they haven’t had fun like this in a while, and joshua could let off some steam. 

but she doesn’t want to be indebted, and forty thousand is no small sum. it’s not like junhui to turn down money, not when it comes in  _ cash _ , not when he’s already been paid a third.

( _ him _ . 

joshua had cornered him, had nearly gotten him too, but the man was prepared. junhui bristles at the thought, clenching his fists so tight his knuckles threaten to pop out of his skin. 

_ who brings flashbangs to a knife fight? _

(joshua is by no means unfit - ever since he first met junhui, who had always been taller, stronger, joshua has gone out of his way to catch up, working out in the mornings, whenever he has the chance. 

sometimes they park on the side of the highway and joshua just runs across vast stretches of road till junhui can’t see him anymore, and he comes back from a dot in a distance to warm and breathless and sweaty in junhui’s arms, laughing. joshua says its to stay in shape, but junhui thinks he just likes the rush.)

it’s going to be an ugly scar. 

joshua prides himself on being in control, on always being one step ahead, and it feels like a slap in the face. there’s physical evidence of this. they can’t just leave town and leave this mistake behind. junhui wishes he could calm him down, remind him that in a week or two they’ll be laughing about it, but right now-

not now, though. joshua is mad, not at junhui, but he’s still mad. 

junhui knows better than to say anything now.)

they don’t have a destination in mind. the car is quiet, junhui is driving, but the silence is not so suffocating as it was before. joshua sits beside him, drumming his fingers against his thighs in an uneven beat. it’s nice, almost. but junhui is still tense, knuckles gripping the wheel too tightly, muscles pulled taught. he feels like he’s being stretched thin, like the smallest push will make him  _ snap _ . he’s not angry, not the way joshua is. there’s no avenging a lover when said man is still alive and very intent on getting payback on his own. but jun is still - still on edge. he knows what’s to come. he’s seen it before, but every time is like another punch to the gut. the hairs on his arms are already rising in anticipation; nervousness, fear, excitement, all bubbling away in his gut. 

joshua reaches out, tracing a line with his finger from the back of junhui’s ear to the sharp point of his adam’s apple. if it’s meant to calm him, it doesn’t help. joshua feels like fire, like every inch of their skin meeting is being shocked. 

strange, though. he’s used to it, but it causes something to twist in his chest anyway. joshua is far worse for wear, but he’s still thinking about junhui. 

a moment barely passes before they hear a muffled thud coming from the trunk of the car, and then another. they’ve been driving for an hour now, far past the city limits, already off the highway and on a dirt road. and if the man is awake for this, all the better. he slows the car to a stop, and the noise stops too. joshua is out the door before junhui can even cut the engine, and junhui’s first reflex is to raise his hand, tell him to wait, but he catches himself. joshua has been on edge for  _ hours _ . he’s been waiting for this moment, sitting, seething, limbs aching from how long he’s been holding himself back. junhui lets him go, takes a moment to compose himself.

it’s starting.

joshua drags the man out by his hair, throws him to the ground. he’s using his left arm - probably to save his shoulder, not pull at his stitches more than he needs to, but the throw ends up messy, and the man lands on his face, howling through the gag junhui had stuffed in his mouth. oh well. maybe it’s better this way. junhui tosses joshua the bag and perches himself on the back of their car, hands in his lap.

it occurs to jun to take a picture of this moment, for proof.

he catches joshua holding a hammer in one hand, a baseball bat in the other, contemplating between them both. he’s got one foot on the man’s knee, pinning his struggling form to the ground. joshua looks up just then, and he smiles. the moonlight is behind him, illuminating the man struggling to break free of his ropes on the ground but turning joshua into little more than a silhouette. the camera catches only this, which is just as well, he supposes. it doesn’t catch the way joshua grins, the way the light reflects on his eyes and his teeth. 

he looks different in that moment, a fraction of himself: oh,  _ oh _ , he’s so close. 

junhui almost doesn’t recognize him: the light changes his form, his muscles tense, the way he crouches, tapping the end of the baseball bat against the man’s chest. joshua moves like he’s fluid, smooth and graceful, predatory, unearthly. the low rumble of his voice, amused even as he brings down the bat over the man’s knees and jun hears a  _ crack _ before he hears a howl.

(it scares him a little. he sees this part of joshua so rarely, and with good reason, but it’s still a part of him. junhui loves it too, even as he draws his knees in, makes himself small, feels the beginning of a familiar warmth pooling in his gut.)

it’s so hot out - joshua has barely started but there’s a sheen of sweat on his skin, light reflecting off his flesh, the tendons of his muscles as they contort, flex in the way that reminds jun of factory machines, mechanical and mindless, the same motions, over and over, efficient and cold, the kind that you can’t tear your eyes away from.

joshua raises his head and howls - what was meant to be agony, the sharpness of  _ pain _ , junhui can see it in the way his body strains, turns into a broken laugh, throat wheezing around too much, too little air. the illusion is broken: junhui watches joshua stumble back, one, two steps, chest heaving as he catches his breath, head turned to the sky, neck stretched and bared.

there are specks of blood by his jugular, dark and inviting.

the man screams against his gags, and it’s a pitiful sound. his legs are mangled beyond repair, broken and visibly bent in multiple places. junhui draws his own in tighter, shifts so he can tuck his chin behind his knees, unblinking. even like this, joshua knows where to hit, how to draw it out. junhui’s heart is pounding in his ears.

joshua steps forward, kneels down, tugs the gag out of the man’s mouth. his hands are so gentle - junhui watches his shoulders tense, the way he leans forward ever so slightly, crouching over the man’s mangled body. 

in the open desert, you either hear screams from miles away or not at all, sound lost in the wind. 

it doesn’t matter tonight though. 

“ _ please _ , please just let me go, i promise i won’t do it again,  _ i swear _ -” 

joshua stuffs the gag back into his mouth, clicking his tongue. it’s not what he was hoping to hear, apparently. junhui can’t tell: they’re not here to extract anything. just to make it hurt. 

he stands up, stretching his arms over his head, letting out a low hum. junhui watches, eyes intent as they catch the way the muscles of his back flex. it must be stretching his stitches awfully, maybe caused them to rip already, but junhui says nothing, appreciates the sight despite the blood he’d no doubt see if joshua were to turn around and allow him a glimpse of his chest. 

joshua aims a pointed kick at the man’s ribs, and then another, seemingly satisfied with the  _ crunch _ of bones beneath his boot. 

it’s then that he does look at jun, head turned to glance over his shoulder, before he staggers, turns around completely and comes towards him. junhui’s breath catches in his throat, his whole body tensing, the blood rushing around his arteries suddenly too tight, like every muscle in his body constricting at once. 

_ no _ .

he reminds himself to relax, forces his legs down, letting them hang over the trunk of the car. joshua drops the baseball bat as comes forward, slotting himself between junhui’s knees, hands reaching up to cups his jaw, forehead touching his. junhui can see the stain of blood coming through his undershirt - light, but the stitches have still ripped, just as he’d thought. joshua is  _ shaking _ , trembling with adrenaline, forcing himself to stay still so he can close his eyes, lean in to breath junhui’s air, wound so tight junhui thinks just one more push and he’d break. 

_ no _ .

junhui brings his hands up, cupping joshua’s face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. immediately, under his hands, joshua stills, relaxing, the tension bleeding out of his form, dripping off him like sweat in the sand. even like this, drifting, fractured, carnal, joshua is  _ his _ . always his.

“do you-” joshua hesitates, pausing to find his words as he comes down. junhui rubs his thumbs into his clavicles, up the slope of his neck. “do you want to as well? do you want to-”

junhui leans in, kisses him slow and firm, tongue dragging the words out of joshua’s mouth and into his own. he’s warm all over, burning where joshua’s hands touch him, fire running under his skin as he tilts his head, presses for more. but- but-

he pulls away, just slightly, not wanting to stop. when he parts his lips to speak, they brush against joshua’s with every word. “no. this one’s yours, baby. he’s all yours.” 

joshua leans in, kisses him again, and junhui can barely register the grin against his mouth before joshua is pulling away, turning around and walking over to the writhing man, picking up the baseball bat as he goes. it’s only seconds before junhui hears the heavy thud, the crushing sound of bones breaking, the wet, slapping sound of muscle and blood spilling out. 

junhui takes another picture, and then another when they finally set fire to the corpse, gasoline spill ten yards across, the sand around it burning to crisps, whatever dna they’d left gone with it.   
  


 

they have time. there’s no rush. 

joshua is still pink from the shower, skin warm and damp, the towel around his hips replaced with a pair of grey sweatpants. they’re junhui’s, actually, so a little too long for him, but junhui doesn’t mind. 

(joshua claims him with marks down his back, along the column of his throat, with a hand at the back of his neck, with the look in his eyes, that kind that says  _ mine, mine,  _ **_mine_ ** . 

junhui matches it with his own methods, submission at times, but always desperation, muted, tucked like dirt under his nails, etched into his clothes and his scent and the way he wraps around joshua and refuses to let go.)

he straddles joshua’s thighs, the plastic sheet they’d laid over the bed squeaking under his knees. he threads the needle carefully, ignores the way joshua taps his fingers against junhui’s thighs.

the look on his face is calm, but junhui knows better - there’s still excitement in him, adrenaline coursing his veins. there had been a lull afterwards - the ride back quiet, calm, like a weight had been lifted off their chests. they’d been awake for the better part of two days, taking naps sporadically, splitting up to cover as much ground as they could. but afterwards, when joshua had been scrubbing himself clean in the shower, washing away the blood and dirt and grime of what they’d done, he’d come out much more awake, fidgeting, unable to keep himself still. 

he’s more of a masochist than he lets on, but junhui doesn’t press. when it’s wordless, it’s just for them - not even the air around them is privy to the secrets junhui is.  

restitching the wound goes faster than he’d expected. joshua has a t-shirt shoved between his teeth, though he hardly makes a sound (just once - a whine when junhui had tugged the string too tight. junhui relishes in it, replays that noise over and over again his mind for hours, days after, drags his nails down joshua’s throat, his wound, many times after just to hear it again). 

there’s a tissue box in his hands, crushed and mangled to wisps of cardboard and tissue, but to his credit, he hadn’t moved an inch, stone still while junhui sewed him shut again, cleaned the cut and patted it dry. they’d hardly even made a mess - the plastic sheet was almost entirely unnecessary.

junhui leans down, presses his mouth to joshua’s, stroking his hair till his breathing comes back to normal, till he’s enough of himself to lean up, meet him with twice the enthusiasm. they can’t do much - junhui doesn’t want to stress the wound, and they’re both tired anyway. But he likes this - this is enough for him.

(joshua doesn’t get like this often - he so rarely loses control, has never liked it. but when it happens, when he’s swaying between himself and something else, he always comes back to junhui, anchors himself to the crook of his neck and shoulder, to the space between his legs, between his teeth and tongue. and junhui is always waiting, anticipating, knowing that no matter how far he drifts, joshua is his - always his.)

**Author's Note:**

> im still :| about this :| but thank you for reading! constructive feedback always welcome~


End file.
